


Return Flight

by magdarko



Category: NCIS
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magdarko/pseuds/magdarko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Gibbs goes home after a routine case in Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return Flight

**Author's Note:**

> I tried a slightly different style with this one--I would love to know if it worked. Unbetaed; just a bit of fun to tide over a rough patch with my other (stubborn!) Tibbs fic.

The wake-up call comes at oh-fucking-early, just as requested. Gibbs drags himself out of bed, grunts at the disgustingly chirpy voice on the other end, and slams the phone down. Coffee. He needs coffee.  
  
He hears the sheets rustle on the bed behind him as Tony stirs. “Mm?” Tony says. Gibbs turns to look at him. He’s lying sprawled over three-fourths of the bed; as Gibbs watches, he reaches out an arm to Gibbs’ side of the bed, groping blindly. The sheets are probably still warm.  
  
The early morning sunlight gilds Tony’s skin in a way that makes it very difficult to stay pissed about wake-up calls, and queen beds that should have been two doubles, and the incompetence of hotel staff, and fucking _Chicago_. Tony’s eyes are squinched half-shut against the weak light. His hair looks like it’s going to be developing sentience. It probably already has—probably looks that messy on purpose to make people want to go over and smooth it down.  
  
Gibbs stays where he is. “Morning, DiNozzo,” he says.  
  
Tony blinks at him, face half-hidden by the pillow. His one visible eye is all the way open, his face still and watchful. Gibbs can almost see the thought bubble over his head that says _I should really wait till he’s had some coffee._ Or maybe he’s waiting for something else. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t say a word, and neither does Gibbs.  
  
Finally Tony scrubs a hand over his face and sits up, with a lot of huffing and grunting and unnecessary movement, still staring at Gibbs in silence. There’s a dark red bruise just under his collarbone that Gibbs remembers being a lot of fun to put there. Gibbs flexes his toes against the scratchy hotel room carpet. They watch each other some more.  
  
Suddenly Tony’s sleep-creased face breaks into a smile. “So it’s morning,” he says.  
  
Gibbs raises an eyebrow.  
  
Tony scratches at his nose, still smiling. “So? Do you still respect me?”  
  
Gibbs snorts.  
  
“What, it’s a valid question!” It would be a valid question if he could wipe that damn fool grin off his face long enough to ask it.  
  
Gibbs rolls his eyes. “How about I buy you breakfast? Would that restore your honour?”  
  
Tony points emphatically at him, still grinning. Gibbs shakes his head, and goes for his kit instead of responding. He strides briskly into the bathroom without another word. If Tony wanted first shower, well, he should have said so.  
  
Through the closed door, he can hear Tony muttering, no doubt something uncomplimentary. “Heard that,” he says, loudly, even though he didn’t. He rolls his eyes at the silence that definitely means Tony’s making a face at him.  
  
*  
  
Gibbs emerges from the bathroom to find that Tony’s managed to source coffee—Tony smirks at him while he downs half the cup in one go. Gibbs glares at him over the top of the cup as Tony makes a big show of dropping the t-shirt and sweats and strolling past Gibbs to the bathroom with a lot of unnecessary brushing against him. Gibbs lets him, mostly because he hauled his ass out of bed and got dressed just to go find coffee. It’s not too bad either—not as strong as Gibbs would have liked, but that’s to be expected. He finishes the gratifyingly large cup Tony got him, then gets dressed and ventures out to check on the others.  
  
Okay, to find more coffee. And then check on the others.  
  
*  
  
McGee opens the door, hair rumpled but otherwise dressed. “Morning, Boss,” he says. “Ziva’s sick.”  
  
“I ab dot sick,” Ziva says from inside, and then sneezes loudly. She sounds sore and raspy and extremely sulky. Gibbs leans past McGee to look inside. Ziva’s sitting on the unmade bed closest to the door, her nose big and red and swollen and her hair an untidy bush. She scrubs at her nose with her hand and glowers at him.  
  
Gibbs and McGee exchange a Look. “We leave in fifteen,” Gibbs tells him. He raises his voice. “Take something for that cold!”  
  
“Meet you in the lobby, Boss,” McGee tells him. Gibbs nods and walks back to his room. The door closes behind him as he makes his way back up the hallway.  
  
Tony’s knotting his tie when Gibbs comes back into the room. Gibbs watches the up-tilt of his chin and the way his long fingers pull and smooth down the bright red silk. “You about done?” he asks, resisting the urge to go knock Tony’s hands out of the way and finish the knot himself.  
  
Tony turns to him and grins brightly. “Done, Boss,” he says. He snugs the knot against his throat before hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. He hands Gibbs his own bag. Gibbs takes it, making sure to touch Tony’s hand a lot. Tony smirks.  
  
Gibbs rolls his eyes and swings around, leading the way out of the door. Tony follows, as always.  
  
“Ziva’s sick,” Gibbs says, as Tony pulls the door shut. They start down the corridor to the elevator.  
  
“Yeah?” Tony says. He frowns, looking concerned.  
  
“Nose like a tomato, voice like a smoker.”  
  
Tony pulls a face. “We should get her some tea or something.”  
  
Gibbs grunts.  
  
*  
  
At the airport, Tony and McGee fuss over Ziva, bringing her tea and lozenges. Ziva coughs and sneezes and sniffles into a seemingly inexhaustible supply of tissues that she keeps pulling out of her pockets like some magician’s trick. Gibbs reads his book about Alexander the Great, and offers mostly unhelpful comments that make Ziva laugh weakly into her tissues.  
  
*  
  
Tony argues that his lousy two extra inches give him better right to the aisle seat, and Gibbs concedes to avoid having to watch him make a huge production of cramming his long legs under the seat.  
  
Ziva takes the window and falls asleep even before takeoff. Gibbs, who never got over the sensation— _Daddy, that was so weird! Did your tummy go funny too?—_ swallows against the way his stomach drops and waits till they’re airborne before settling down with his book, an ear on Ziva’s raspy breathing on his right and a little bit of his brain examining the warm press of Tony’s arm at his left.  
  
*  
  
Tony asks the steward for warm water and makes Gibbs wake Ziva up so she can drink it. Ziva rouses, gulps the water down noisily, and gives Tony a bleary look and a ‘thag you, Toady’ before subsiding back into her fitful doze. Tony watches her indulgently, smiling. Gibbs manfully resists the urge to accidentally swing _The Nature of Alexander_ into his face.  
  
*  
  
Tony and McGee set up enough of a diversion with their teasing and their snarking and their badly-hidden concern that Ziva doesn’t notice Gibbs swinging her bag onto his shoulder with his and muscling his way out of the plane. She stumbles after him when she finally figures out her bag’s gone, and he tunes out her nasal, scratchy-voiced protests until she subsides and trails behind him, sniffing disconsolately into a tissue and eyeing her bag longingly.  
  
On Gibbs’ other side, Tony and McGee are organising resources—  
  
(“—make sure she has soup or something—”  
  
“—yeah, there’s that deli down the road from her—”  
  
“—orange juice—”  
  
“—I _know,_ Tony—”)  
  
—in noisy whispers. Gibbs rolls his eyes and resettles the strap of Ziva’s bag against his shoulder—his left, which has never been the same since that time he pushed McGee out of the way of that car. “Gibbs, I will—” Ziva starts. He glares her into silence. It’s pretty easy—between the cold and the tea and the lozenges and the syrups, she’s pretty out of it. It doesn’t even take much for McGee to liberate her keys so he can bring her car around, bundle her into the passenger seat, and slide behind the wheel. She glares at them, but even that’s a bit watery, and she ruins the effect by sneezing afterwards.  
  
Gibbs glares at McGee too, a look that says _you take care of her_ , which really isn’t necessary but needs to be done for form’s sake. McGee nods crisply at him before swinging his door shut.  
  
They drive off. Gibbs watches them out of sight, Tony’s solid warmth at his left.  
  
“So, Boss,” Tony says, and Gibbs turns to raise an eyebrow at him.  
  
Tony grins at him. “You said you’d buy me breakfast,” he says, too damned cheerful for someone who just got off a commercial flight after two days in a hotel room.  
  
Two days and two nights, Gibbs reminds himself. He considers the possibility that what happened that second night might have something to do with Tony’s cheerfulness.  
  
“I did, huh.”  
  
“Yup!” Tony bounces on his heels, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.  
  
Gibbs makes a big show of thinking about it before he says, “Don’t know about that.” Before Tony’s face can fall he adds, “Got stuff for pancakes at home.”  
  
Tony’s smile, which had started to dim, brightens all the way back up again. “Yeah?” he says. He shuffles his feet a little, like it’s killing him to be standing in one place.  
  
“Sure,” Gibbs says. “Shame to waste it.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Tony agrees enthusiastically. “I love pancakes.”  
  
He grins fit to burst, and bumps his shoulder into Gibbs’, right there in parking where everybody and his brother can see.  
  
Gibbs rolls his eyes and turns quickly on his heel in the direction of his car (thank god, after two damn days of rentals) so Tony won’t see him grinning like an idiot.  
  
“C’mon, DiNozzo,” he says. Tony falls into step beside him, and they make their way through the crowds of harried faces and bleary eyes and rumpled suits towards the car.  
  
 _fin_


End file.
